p. 11 | The Look of a Child

Review and Herald Publishing Association · Takoma Park Station, Washington, D. C. · Nov 12, 1908

The Look of a Child

“The greatest lesson I ever learned in my life,” said a gentleman, speaking on the subject of temperance, “was pointed out to me by my little daughter. I had never been a drinking man; but sometimes, I am ashamed to confess, I came home slightly the worse for liquor. The habit grew on me, in spite of tearful entreaties of my wife. I took a bottle of whisky home one afternoon. After dinner I made for the bottle, which I had left in my study, poured out a glass and raised it to my lips, when I caught a reflection in the polished woodwork of the wall. I turned quickly, and there was my little daughter standing in the doorway looking at me. I could never describe the expression on her face. If one might say it of a child, it was a commingling of reproach, pity, and disgust. Probably she had overheard conversations between her mother and myself; perhaps it was instinct. I have not taken another drink from that day to this.”—Selected.